Trust to Fate
by Kitt Otter
Summary: Short AU: Forgetting every impossibility, the Three Hunters overtake the Orcs and contrive a plan to save the two captives.
1. The Plan

_**Part 1: The Plan**_

West beyond the plains, a will struggled. It grappled and shook, and at last shattered. Time and rightness could not have broke harder…

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"_And woe to them, if we prove the swifter!" - so said Aragorn, TT, ch 1. _

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Further east, afternoon sunlight fell on the Three Hunters. Onward north and west they ran, weary beyond reflection and strengthened solely by the will of their hearts – and even that was sinking as surely as the sun.

Aragorn's head was bent, his eyes sweeping the orc-trod path, littered with cast-offs. He slowed, thinking how changed the signs had become, and worried at his skill in reading them, but saying nothing. Gimli followed, bent, though not in search of signs. Legolas ran ahead of them both and summated a small hill. The Elf paused, cried aloud, and dropped. Keeping low, Aragorn and Gimli followed with a swiftness mingled with dread.

"What did you see?" asked Gimli, gulping air.

"The Orcs! You may see with your own eyes; they are no more than two leagues before us."

Gimli and Aragorn looked down the orc-trail, and indeed, there was a blur across the horizon and a glint of sun upon metal.

"This I do not understand," said Aragorn, his face and tone astonished. "Before I had reckoned their trail to be a day old, now since noon it turns fresh. What had slowed them, I cannot guess."

"Could they not merely be scouts? Or a party different from the first?" said Gimli.

"Nay," said Legolas. "This is too large a host to be scouts. They are over five score, and I see no track of a joining party."

"Then we must be more cautious," murmured Aragorn, and slipped back behind the hill. Scouts the Orcs may yet have, and the cloaks of Lórien could not shield against their arrows.

They sat on the grass and Aragorn said, "Now comes the time for the Three Hunters to plan. How do we save our friends? We cannot have run this race only to fail at its finish."

Legolas and Gimli remained silent for a time, as a small, chill wind flicked their faced and rippled the grass. None of them had given a rescue plan much thought, for truly, overtaking the Orcs had never seemed hopeful, not from the moment the pursuit began by Parth Galen. Moreover, it was to Aragorn they trusted for these things, for leadership; they had faith he would not lead them astray now.

"Perhaps we need to yet watch them so to find our chance," said Legolas.

"But every minute we hesitate, the young hobbits are doomed to more torment," rumbled Gimli, crushing a handful of dirt. "And every step brings them closer to Isengard."

Aragorn looked at them both. "Gimli is right: we haven't much time and their pace may quicken, yet Legolas speaks rightly as well: we cannot plan without observing them first. In truth, my friends, any plan seems folly to me. Yet we must trust to fate to guide us on." And Aragorn rose.

They continued their march over the plains, but with far more caution and slowness; scouts could be hidden anywhere. They dreaded most that the Orcs would outpace them again, however, this proved to be a groundless fear, and they had to pace themselves to keep little less than a league behind their quarry. But if they should be seen? Still it did not seem so. It felt like a will, once hardened against them, had vanished. No speech passed between them, for each pondered on how they could rescue their captive friends, every thought becoming more desperate than the last. That their friends were _not _alive was not an optional belief. They wondered, though, how likely it was that they would need to exchange their lives for the hobbits'.

In late evening, they noticed a slowing of the Orcs, and after the last red rays of sunset, the Orcs finally halted. They appeared to be making camp: surly unlike Orcs to rest in darkness and run in strong daylight!

The Hunters turned aside from the path, into a small outcrop of rock. There, they huddled together in their cloaks, nibbling on _lembas_, and debated.

"What we decide on must be done swiftly," said Aragorn. His face was drawn, as though fresh from painful reflections. "Our options are few. I propose, first, one of us approaches the camp near enough to spy on their layout. Until we know of it, the chance of contriving a successful plan is small."

"I will go," said Legolas. "It is little to say that you will be alerted if I fail."

The Elf rose and left with light feet; Aragorn and Gimli immediately lost sight of him under the elvish cloak in the dark night of a thin moon.

Breathlessly, they waited, jumpy at any sound issuing from the orc-camp. The star's march over the sky seemed to drag dreadfully, though by their reckoning, less than an hour passed before Legolas returned.

He threw back his hood and his face was grim. "I approached as close as I dared. Merry and Pippin are alive, for the Orcs debate over them. Guards circle the center, where, no doubt, they lie. There are many scores of separate tribes: north-goblins, Orcs of Mordor and the strange beasts of Isengard. They are much divided against each other, nigh to the edge of bloodshed. Not long will they rest; I believe we have this single chance to act."

"How!" cried Gimli. "I can only see our anguish ending in a mad death. My axe can slice just so few – what are we to scores of Orcs?"

"Be at ease, Gimli. We merely need a diversion," said Aragorn.

Legolas sat down and drew in the dirt, and the other two bent over, squinting in the dark. The Elf had made three circles, mingled with point-marks. "These," he pointed to the circles. "Are the sentries. I passed through the first two…"

Suddenly Aragorn laughed. It was short and dour, but Legolas and Gimli looked at him with wonder, for everything since Lórien had been so sorrowful. "I know our diversion," said Aragorn, musingly brushing his fingers over Legolas's chart. "Though it leaves no place for your axe, Gimli. Gandalf used it long ago on three trolls, and now it may be used again on three tribes of Orc…"

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_**Disclaimer:**__ I own none of Mr. Tolkien's works, nor those of Mr. Jackson's, and neither do I intend to profit from them. _

_**Note:**__ On this silly thing, as ever, I appreciate comments of all sorts; if you can give me one critical (even scathing) I will be grateful – for grammar, plot, whatever._


	2. The Rescue

**_Part 2: The Rescue_**

Merry and Pippin lay on the hard earth, near, but not near enough to each other to risk a whisper. To their weary minds, all was a foul dream: countless cruel faces surrounded them; the air reeked; harsh tongues and curses slashed everywhere. The hobbits tried to sleep, yet though tired, could not, for their bonds were so tight they sliced into their skin and their bodies ached from being bumped against orcish backs all day. Their sleepy eyes teased them with images from wholesome Shire food to, at very least, a drop of unspoilt water.

Yet they dared not ask for food or drink; they wanted not to draw attention of any sort. And attention they were not paid. Of that they were thankful. Uglúk, the great black orc of the Isengarders, had been bickering with the Mordor-orcs and Northerners since they had halted; many orcs, having languished in the sun all day, refused to exert any more effort. For a while they had run swiftly as the Anduin, until this day, when it seemed a hand pressed upon them and snatched their strength. Nonetheless, Uglúk wanted to continue and very soon. They had not crossed the distance he had hoped to. Pippin could see the black orc baring his fangs and stalking among the orcs.

"Snaga may have killed the Whiteskin," snarled Uglúk. "But there may be more about, _and _they will know of us if their cursed scout doesn't return. We need to go on running, before the dawn."

"We've been running like wolves since the River," one Mordor-orc growled. "Now there's no threat. We need a rest."

Uglúk roared and caught the smaller orc by the throat. Pippin shut his eyes. "You want to stay, do you? To be eaten by the horse-boys? Stay then! You Mordor-maggots are weak. We are the Uruk-hai and we can run day and night!"

He threw the orc to the ground and all fell silent. It seemed Uglúk would have his way and run again they would.

Suddenly a deep voice spoke from the crowd of Orcs. "We will not follow the orders of _Isen-filth_."

Other Orcs began to murmur, and Uglúk leered. They silenced again.

Then another voice, this one gruffer, said, "What are Mordor-rats but slaves and scum?"

Now weapons rang out from all around, and Uglúk gripped his own. Pippin thought, not believing himself: _How queer! I know those voices…_

The deep voice spoke again. "Come! No swine of Mountain nor of the Fool Wizard are stronger than we!"

The tall Uruks howled and charged outward in the voice's direction, slaying those in their path. Jeers, screeches, and clashes of metal. There was not control; Pippin shivered, afraid should the orcs in their rage drift back, for even their guards had disappeared… Pippin suddenly remembered his wrists: he had cut them – a day before? – on a dead goblin's blade. He had loosely retied them together. Now may be his only chance. Merry was a few paces away, motionless as though resting, and Pippin crawled over to nudge him.

"Merry," he hardly dared move his lips. "Look, I've - " A strong hand pressed his mouth

Pippin felt an awful moment of terror, and then he struggled, trying to break loose; but a fair, familiar voice whispered into his ear: "Fear not."

The hand released him. Pippin was filled with such joy and relief, he cried, "Le-!" only for his mouth to be repressed.

The Elf spoke no other word, rather cutting Merry's bonds with his long white knife while Pippin finished unwrapping his own wrists. Legolas was cutting the ropes from their ankles, when Pippin heard a snarl, something whistled past him, and he looked around to see an Orc – oddly – falling like a sack of grain. Merry's arm was raised, and Pippin saw that he had saved them with a well-timed stone. Legolas smiled, took them each by the hand, and as soon as they reached their feet, they ran.

Pippin's sore muscles protested and pricked, except he was so happy those seemed no more than trivialities. He had all but given up hope the others would rescue him and Merry, since they were of so little importance to the real quest.

This feeling of lightness, however, did not long last. Pippin's fear began to ebb back in. Shouts and a greater uproar rose from behind. He knew that even if they were swift, the Uruks were swifter. And their arrows… they could even take strong Boromir. _I know how we escaped – it is like that story of the trolls Mr. Bilbo used to tell. But the Orcs won't turn to stone! They will now be after Aragorn and the others too!_ Panting now, he felt like he would drop at any minute if it were not for the Elf's grip.

Pippin was greatly surprised when all three of them collapsed. His face touched the dirt, with little desire to move.

Legolas whispered: "A river is near; keep west and cross if you can. Stay in cover. Aragorn will find you."

Pressed to the ground, Pippin could feel a terrible trampling. He wanted nothing less than to get up again, but Legolas lifted him to his feet.

"But what about you?" said Merry

"Hasten now."

Merry, to Pippin's awe, looked determined and no tremor shook his face. Pippin's own limbs shook in weariness and terror. Legolas clasped their shoulders and the hobbits fled west. Only once did Pippin look back. Legolas knelt, his bowstring taut. At that moment, Pippin knew no more fear; for the sacrifices of his friends, he could not.

**To be concluded.**

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_**Note:**__ At this point my purpose is completed. I do not want to rewrite the entire Two Towers. (Nuh-uh. No way.) I was going to end here, but thanks to pokes and promptings, will concude it with an epilogue of some sort. _

_Big thanks and lots of cookies to Calathiel of Mirkwood, Clana89, Merrythehobbit, Pip4, Telcontar Rulz, Vectis, and all readers._


	3. Epilogue: The Meeting

_**Epilogue: The Meeting**_

With a sigh of great weariness, an old man, face shadowed in hood, leant on his staff. The days had been difficult, and his mind and body were bowed from many struggles, those that had brought the extent of his will to its limits. Doubts weighed on him as well: had he done rightly? Were his struggles for nothing? Was his task doomed? But misgivings were useless, for already things were in motion, and here he waited to see at least one result of his tentative actions.

The old man looked up; with compassion he saw them now, stumbling through grass and stone, and he knew them, these younger beings who had been his friends. That felt like many life-times ago.

As they drew nearer, the old man spoke: "Well met!"

The three travelers froze as though in great fright. Two were halflings – hobbits, and one was a man, who put his hand to his sword's hilt.

"Orcs are behind us and we must be on our way," said the man. "I advise you to do the same."

"There is no need to fear; rest for a moment, my friends." The hand free from his staff he raised as a token of peace.

The man continued to grip the sword at his belt. "Who are you?"

"Do you not know me? You have heard of me before."

The man looked still wary, but his hand fell to his side.

"Will you sit, at least?" continued the old one. "For the present, there is no danger close by." And the old man lowered his hood – a ray of the purest white blazed from his face.

The three travelers shielded their eyes, dumb by amazement and fear, until one hobbit exclaimed: "It is Gandalf! Gandalf!"

"Gandalf?" the old man whispered. "Yes, that was my name; you may still use it. Well met, Peregrin Took!" Again he had the face and voice of their old friend.

They all laughed. In their joy they had much to tell, but time was scanty. Gandalf would not yet say anything of himself, and the others as briefly as they could recounted their journeys, and though much was sorrowful, Gandalf's burdens felt lightened because Frodo, likely with Sam, had gone on alone.

At last Aragorn said, "I must go back for Legolas and Gimli."

Lined and tired became Gandalf's countenance. "Yes, we cannot abandon them to unknown fates. Make for Edoras as soon as you can. Had chance been different, I would hasten there now, but first I must go to Fangorn. You two will come with me," he added to the hobbits.

Aragorn did not question the strangeness of this destination, and Merry and Pippin gave hopeful words of parting, perhaps more than their hearts felt. For themselves they felt safe at last, though beyond that, unsure.

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Few are able to escape the pursuit of wrathful Orcs, and Aragorn returned to their midst with stealth greater than he had ever before employed. A wasteful venture it may be, for the Orcs had likely caught his friends; nonetheless, they may even now be in torment. Yet could he ever know for certain? That was why he had to see. What a leap in his heart when he found hewn goblins and traces of dwarf-boot leading on south and west... and later… was that the faint print of elf-step? The signs led on, until Aragorn found what he sought. The Dwarf and Elf were not unharmed, but they could laugh and strength they found in Elven bread and healer's hands to finish their race over the plains. Truly, fate seemed to have set the Three Hunters aside for deeds yet to come.

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Southwards a dark power laughed, for a small moment. Dared the White Wizard challenge him? Yet what was this new will that had arisen, who had also faced the White Wizard and now turned toward him… did he know something he did not? Had his designs somehow gone wrong…

**The End**

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_**Note:** Thanks again to Calathiel of Mirkwood, Merrythehobbit, Mildlyinsane, Pip4, Szepilona10,_ _Telcontar Rulz, Vectis, and all readers. I could not have finished this without your encouragement and help; I am very, very grateful. So… is this any more conclusive?_


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